This Too Will Pass
by Domino Darkwolf
Summary: A stranger appears to Dean out of the blue to give him something he desperately needs... a hug. [Short, one-shot sort-of-fluff-but-not-really tripe that happened because Dean seriously needs a hug and this is about as close to giving him one as I can get.]


_So far this season, every episode has left me with the violent urge to hug/comfort the stuffing out of Dean. Since real life is a cruel mistress, this was the only way I could do such a thing. So here's a quick story of someone who looks kind of like me doing that._

_Also, I sort of created a type of entity for this story since angels are dicks and I'm not into Destiel (though I don't judge if you are, it's just not my cup of tea). They're explained in the dialogue. They're similar to the beings of the same name in the Marvel universe, but they're not the same._

* * *

She appeared like a vision or a dream, vivid and out of place. Long blonde hair spilled elegantly around nearly bare shoulders, and a flowing white dress fell fluidly around her knees. Big, round blue eyes watched him with a soft gaze as her full, defined lips offered him a small, warm smile.

When she first appeared, he thought his mind was finally beginning to fail him. Life post-demonism hadn't been kind to the hunter. Between the stresses that came with the Mark, a lack of sleep and a lifetime of horror, insanity didn't seem too far of a stretch.

The beautiful stranger looked perfect—too perfect—with her flawless, unblemished skin and impeccable figure. Then there was the matter of how she managed to get past the intricate and seemingly infinite warding that protected the bunker from unwelcome intruders. If she truly existed, it would have been impossible for her to have gotten past the front door, let alone all the way to his bedroom.

"Are you real?" he asked her after a few minutes of awkward silence had passed.

"Yes," she gently replied.

He nodded, carefully studying the strange woman who stood casually beside his bed.

"Who are you?" he questioned with a cautious crease in his brow. "More importantly, _what_ are you? Demon?" He paused to sniff the air, but couldn't detect the familiar sulfuric stench demons typically carried. "Angel?"

"Neither."

He eyed his ivory handled pistol that sat on the nightstand and silently calculated the time it would require to reach it from his place near the door.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Dean," she attempted to assure the anxious hunter. "But you're welcome to shoot me if it will make you feel better."

The fold in his brow deepened at her offer. No one ever volunteered to take a bullet, not unless it would have no effect.

"What are you?" he questioned, a frown still set on his hardened face. There was an unknown woman—an unknown thing—standing in his bedroom. Attractive or not, her uninvited presence made him edgy and suspicious.

"I'm a Watcher," she spoke to him with a calm, gentle voice.

"A what?"

"A Watcher," she repeated.

"I've never heard of that," Dean admitted, eyeing her skeptically.

"No," she spoke. "You wouldn't have. It's not often we visit earth."

"Sorry, but what's a 'Watcher'?"

She gave him a kind smile.

"We are souls," she explained. "Souls that have achieved the highest level of ascension. We watch."

"Like, people?" Dean asked with an uncomfortable look. "That's not creepy at all."

"It does sound a bit creepy, doesn't it?" she agreed with a small laugh. "We observe all the planets and all the realms throughout the stars."

"Why?"

She answered him with a kind smile as her bare feet slowly began to carry her across the cool, hard floor towards him.

"We're not supposed to get involved," she told him.

"So you're here… why?" Dean questioned as he uncomfortably watched her near him.

"I couldn't help it," she confessed. "I've wanted to for a while now, but more recently…"

She trailed off as she inched closer still. Dean flinched as she reached out to him, but hesitantly allowed her to place a delicate hand on his chest.

"There's so much pain inside of you," she softly spoke as she stared seemingly inside of him at his vital organ.

"In my heart?" Dean questioned awkwardly.

The stranger lifted her eyes to meet his as she whispered;

"Everywhere."

The hunter's expression softened as he stared into her bright, blue eyes. What he saw in her was not sympathy, but rather pure empathy. She didn't just see his pain. She felt it. Deep in her very core, in her mind, in her fingertips, she felt exactly what he did.

Dean began to allow himself to relax as she stared into him. He didn't know her. He had never heard of her kind and had every reason not to trust her. But her empathetic expression was compelling and he couldn't deny how refreshing it felt to have someone—something—know precisely how he felt.

"I wish I could cure you," she spoke with an honest breath.

"It's okay," Dean told her, placing a hand upon hers over his chest. "I'm used to it."

"I can't take your pain away," she told him. "But I can offer a slight reprieve."

Dean wasn't expecting what came next. Gently, the woman wrapped her arms around him and brought him into her for a tender, heartfelt embrace.

For a minute, Dean wasn't sure what to do. Hugs weren't really his style, and if he returned the gesture it would dismantle the tough facade he worked so hard to keep—even if she already knew it was all an illusion.

It wasn't long before he allowed himself to admit how desperately he needed the comfort she offered. Slowly he wrapped his own arms around her small frame and clung to her as if his life depended upon it. He found himself desperately craving to stay there forever, wrapped in an eternal, warm respite.

He felt so small in her embrace. So tiny, but safe, like a frightened, battered child in his mother's affectionate arms. A long, exhausted sigh escaped the hunter's lips, and for a minute he thought he might cry. With his guard down, every emotion, every horrible feeling he'd spent years bottling up threatened to spill out and onto the compassionate entity that held him.

"_Hoc quoque praeteriturum,_" she told him. "I promise you, Dean Winchester, everything you're feeling right now is not permanent. One day it will all pass."

It was something Dean had heard many times. Something he had told himself a few times, but never really believed. His persistent pain had been with him for so long, it was hard to imagine it would ever truly end. But, somehow, hearing it from her lips, the reality gradually began to sink in.

"When?" he whispered, longing to truly know he was not bound to an eternity of pain.

"I don't know," she admitted gently as she, to Dean's dismay, carefully broke their intense grasp. Her blue eyes stared sincerely into his green eyes, her hands lightly cupping his face. "But I promise you it is not forever."

Dean nodded, accepting the stranger's vow. It was oddly comforting hearing it from the unknown entity. As if it was certain to come to pass because the words had come from her lips.

_Hoc quoque praeteriturum._ This too will pass.

The empathetic soul steadily began to back away from the Winchester, who gasped at the action.

"Please don't go," he begged, catching her hand and clasping onto it.

She gave him a sad smile as she paused.

"I can't stay," she said.

A disappointed breath rolled through the hunter.

"But I don't have to go just now."

A wave of relief washed over Dean, who offered her a grateful yet pained smile.

Wordlessly, she pulled him towards his tidy bed. He followed effortlessly as she gingerly coaxed him onto the mattress beside her. The tenacious hunter nuzzled his head between her neck and her shoulder, securing his arms around her petite body. The compassionate being warmly cradled him and delicately stroked his hair once she was certain he was comfortable.

For the first time in a very long time, Dean Winchester felt like everything was going to be okay. He felt calm. Safe. Content. And for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester drifted peacefully into a deep sleep and did not dread the prospect of waking.

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_Thanks for reading! I'll get back to one of the three (or maybe four?) stories I **should** be working on._


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